Prayers
by fostofina
Summary: In Which Catelyn prays to each of the gods to take care of each of her children. I had to cut the number of characters in the description due to FF limits but the story includes all of the Starks.
1. Robb

Her screams echoed through the halls like war drums as she clung to her bedpost for dear life, Catleyn thought that maybe this battle was the gods' way of telling her about the warrior she's birthing.

* * *

Once her Northern husband had left Riverrun, she started to worry. _What if he loses?_ And she knew in her heart what would happen. Her family would be stripped of their titles, her father would be put to the death and she would be sent off to a lording.

After days of sleepless nights, she realized that her family's only hope was if she was with child. An heir to Winterfell, she could be is regent and as the Lady of Winterfell she could take care of her family. She could see her father if he took the black and take Lysa and Edmure to the North with her.

* * *

So naturally, the next day Catleyn went to the sept and kneeled in front of the warrior. She hasn't prayed this hard in her entire life, and her septa had always told her that for the gods to hear you, you must want it with all your being. And gods! Did she want it!

She prayed and cried and begged, She told him what would happen to her family. She told him how badly she needs him. How terrified she was. She told him to keep her husband safe on the battlefield or at least to give her a strong son, someone who could carry the North on his shoulders when all around him falls to ashes. She prayed until her head was spinning. Her knees were aching, her throat was hurting and she could no longer open her eyes.

She kept praying like that everyday, determined that the warrior would hear her if she had to scream so loud that his seat above would tremble.

* * *

And so when her son was born and she saw how much he looked like her, she wanted to kiss the warrior if she could. The boy looked a Tully, he would always know who his family is. He would take care of them.

She held her son and presented him to her husband, she thought of how generous the warrior was, he kept Eddard safe and he gave her a strong and healthy son. She was proud of herself.

* * *

Now she stands laughing like she had never laughed her entire life. Catleyn never thought of the warrior as the japing type but oh, how he japed. Her husband didn't die on the battlefield, her sweet, honorable Ned died by whispers and traitors. Her son who carried the North on his shoulders as befits a king, who rallied the North behind him and won battles like no four and ten year old boy ever could, is now dead for the same reason. Really, Catleyn had to laugh.


	2. Sansa

She had to admit that the second time she gave birth was the strangest one. It all went so smoothly even if it took very long. Her daughter made it very clear that she would come in her own time without making such fuss. She would be a gentle and sweet lady this one.

* * *

This time, Catelyn wanted a daughter. The warrior had already blessed her with a strong boy but now she wanted a girl. She would coddle her and brush her hair and teach her how to be the best lady the seven kingdoms had ever seen.

When she found out that she was with child, she went to the sept her husband had built for her. She quickly thanked the crone for her wisdom and guidance in her marriage and then she began to pray to the maiden. Cat asked for a daughter as beautiful as the sun. A girl who could sing and dance and move the hearts of those around her like the mermaids and the princesses of legend. Her daughter would turn the heads of princes and lords and everyone would want to have her when the time comes.

* * *

After she recovered from her birthing bed, she ran to the sept and praised the maiden for hearing her pleas. Catleyn promised to give the smallfolk all they ask for in her honor the day her child comes before she left the Sept.

She could have sworn that she saw a smile playing on the crone's face.

* * *

When Catleyn held her daughter and read her stories she couldn't help but marvel at her. _Gods! She's beautiful!_ Her Sansa's soft hair shone like burnished copper and tumbled down over perfect alabaster skin, and her eyes shone in the daylight like blue ice. Her daughter was ever attentive, already a lady that would surpass every girl in the seven kingdoms. She even thought about whom she would marry, her daughter befits a king but she would still like it if Sansa was to go somewhere warm and rich, the Westerlands or the Reach perhaps.

* * *

But now she sees, floating in the river like a dead beast. She sees as her life leaves this world what the maiden had done. Her daughter had no match in her beauty; she was betrothed to a prince and is to marry a king. Everyone wants her sweet, beautiful Sansa to keep but not to love. And Sansa was a lady, she needed love not cruelty, she could never survive this. Singing and dancing could not help her now.

Catelyn wondered if all of the gods were so cruel when she finally _**saw**_ for true. How the crone surrounded her daughter, sheltering her with her cloak and guiding her with her lamp. She truly saw what happened in her girl's head. She saw how fast Sansa learned and how wise she becomes everyday.

The river suddenly gave her comfort as she thanked the crone. At least she could rest easier._ She will survive them all._


	3. Arya

She was terrified. _Forgive me! I'm sorry!_ She kept repeating those words in her head and she kept shouting them as she birthed this child. She knew that either her babe wouldn't survive this, or that she would die. And she hoped for the latter.

* * *

If only she wasn't so stupid. If only she had not allowed jealousy to blind her so. But every time she laid her eyes upon Jon Snow her eyes would water and her heart would sink all the way to her belly. _He looks more trueborn than any of my children._ The bitter taste her mouth would have each time she saw him playing with Robb was too much to bear.

But she still bore it until one day, she saw them learning to spar. And her blood went cold when she saw the bastard knock her son to the ground._Did his mother bear a boy more worthy of the Stark house?_

* * *

Catelyn visited the sept since the gods have answered her past prayers most dutifully. She kneeled in front of the smith and asked him to fashion her a son that looked like his lord father, and she waited.

When that didn't work, she asked the mother. And when that failed too she asked the father, then the crone and finally she asked the warrior and the maiden again.

Twelve moons have passed and none of the gods have answered her prayers, no matter how much she prayed and no matter how much she had wanted it. She watched her husband's son grow another year. The boy was fine and solemn and so much like Ned it hurt just to see him from afar. Action had to be taken.

The next day, Catelyn Stark kneeled in front of the stranger and asked him for a son that looked like his father. A son that would be Stark through and through. A son who was good with a sword. A son that would draw a smile on her beloved's face. She prayed and hoped that he would hear her since no one every prays to the stranger. The day after that she found out that she was with child.

* * *

She screamed in apology as she clung to her sheets. One of them would die she was sure of that. For the stranger must have his due and the warrior was to keep Ned safe at the rebellion. But she had to be strong if she wanted to give her son a chance, even if she would die doing it. _Take me instead!_

Cat saw her daughter. _Not a son. _Healthy and strong and so much like Ned, she could finally breathe and rest. The gods are good; she has the child she wanted. Jon Snow's mother was no better than her. _But the stranger must have his due._

* * *

Her child wasn't exactly a lovely girl but she didn't mind. She didn't mind as she much as she should have when Arya would go running around dirtying her clothes, when her daughter would sneak to watch the boys sparring or when she fought with her septa, when Ned told her about the sword she had hidden, a smile playing on his lips. She was just glad that her Arya was alive and well.

Although she did mind, just a little bit, how she made the bastard laugh as well. But she supposed that this is why the stranger didn't have his due. He wouldn't give her all that she wanted. After all he didn't give her a son.

* * *

And now she sits there, trapped inside this hateful being. She supposed that she deserved that one. She dealt with death because she was jealous of a little boy. Isn't that just vile? Isn't that pathetic? _Stoneheart_ they called her. How funny, her heart was the only thing still alive. Just like her wolf pup that dragged her out of the river.

The stranger had surely had his due, in hundreds and thousands of lives. Wasted by battles and intrigue.

She sat there and marveled at her girl. For someone claimed by the stranger, her daughter surely had a strange way of eluding him. Her daughter should have been dead from the day she was born. _The stranger always has his due_.

* * *

But just when the flames pulled her out of the stranger's embrace, at that infinite moment when she was looking upon his many faces. She knew what happened to her Arya, what will happen to her Arya. There was more than one way to claim her daughter, and in the eyes of death a girl and a boy were no different.

Oh, oh, oh if she'd never gone and acted so stupid. Oh, if only he would leave her child and take her instead...


	4. Bran

If the calm of birthing him were any sign of what's to come, Catelyn would say that this child would be quiet and cheerful. He would give her little trouble.

* * *

When she found out that she was with child, Catelyn didn't want to go to the sept. Her prayers to the seven last time she had a babe within her left her unsettled and so she didn't know what to do.

Dreams of cold and death haunted her every night. The stranger is mocking me! And she always woke up with the distinct feeling of falling into the blackness.

The sleepless nights took their toll on her until one day, she found herself stumbling upon the Godswood. A cold, desolate place with trees that cry bloody tears and twist in anguish. But still, she suddenly felt peace wash over her from the queer serenity of it all.

* * *

And so she sat beneath the heart tree and looked upon the pool as she stroked her belly._ I can see why Ned loves it here_. She imagined the child growing in there. She wanted another son, but this one won't bear his brother's burden. She imagined him to be a knight rescuing maidens from towers and fighting monsters and saving people.

Suddenly, the wind caressed her face and soothed her to sleep. She dreamt of crows and saltwater and lizard lions and a tree with a thousand eyes and people that look like children. When she woke up, Cat heard the wind again. It whispered a name.

* * *

Her boy grew up as expected, she indulged him and she didn't care. He was her babe and she didn't have to be with him as strict as she is with Robb. He would make a fine knight, her son. Her sweet boy would climb all the towers and rescue all the maidens.

She supposed as she nursed him back and stayed by his bedside that this was her gods' way of punishing her. She sought out comfort with gods foreign to her, old and barbaric. She prayed with all her might that any of them would hear her, especially the mother. Surely she would understand. After all, Bran keeps to the seven and he wants to live in the south where they'll surround him.

* * *

She finally understood how could a heart snap in two when they told her about his death. She had fought so hard for him. She fought for him with tears and restlessness and with her bare hands against illness and assassins.

Her Bran, her gentle knight, looks at his home without seeing. His head on a spike like a skewered animal. And every waking minute, it feels like she heard the news for the first time and that her heart was ripped out of her bones all over again, and again, and again…

* * *

And now she's free as what's left of her finally leaves her stony prison. Her heart is suddenly light, flying on a raven's wings all the way to the wall and beyond. And she sees her sweet Bran flying next to her on ice and fire, battling frozen monsters and saving everyone. And for the first time for as long as she could remember, Catelyn felt happy.


	5. Rickon

Her sheets coiled around her like a snake as she birthed her fifth child. For a woman who had done this four times, it was natural for her to know what to expect. But without indication from the gods, Catelyn had no clue.

* * *

When the maester told her that another Stark was growing inside her belly, she thought long and hard about whom she might pray to. The smith came to her mind but he didn't answer her prayers when she asked him before.

She considered all of her options for so long until one night, as she lay next to her Ned, she decided that she would not ask any of the gods for their help. They would take care of him, her and Ned and all of his older brothers and sisters. _You will never be alone_. She promised her babe that.

* * *

Rickon was a fussy child, he liked to scream and yell in delight as he played with his brothers and Arya. He gave a toothy grin every time Sansa or Old Nan cooed over him and told him stories. She loved to watch the wonder on his face every time one of her children shared their wisdom with him.

And her heart swelled with pride when she saw him playing with his direwolf. His fur was as black as a moonless night and his eyes were green fires. But still, her Rickon was not afraid. She watched her brave boy with a smile on her lips.

* * *

Why? Why? Why would anyone do that to a little boy? His greatest sin was being her family and they killed him for it. His face haunted her every night as she clutched her pillows. Her babe died alone and afraid. Gods have mercy, oh please have mercy…

* * *

And now she looks down on him, holding her sweet Ned's warm hand. He is a feral one her son. Living in the mountains with savage Skaggs and a wildling. Tamed by no man and watched by no god. Still, she promised him and she will keep that promise. She will watch him, her and Ned and Robb. They will guide him to what's left of his family and they will help him bring his home back from desolation. And they will never abandon him. _I promise you again! And I promise you a thousand times more! _


	6. Jon Snow

"Tell me who she is."

She did not birth this child. No she did not. But still their first meeting was not without pain. Not a pain of the body, but a different kind of pain. One that could only stem from ignominy and humiliation. As Catelyn looked upon this babe's face, she felt as though lord Stark had slapped her in front of all to see.

Her husband was suppose to be an honorable man but even the most detestable of men knew not to strip their wives of their dignity like that.

* * *

"Tell me who she is."

Every night, she imagined what his mother must have looked like and every day she searched for her in his features. In the end she decided that either his mother was faceless or that she looked exactly like Eddard.

Her husband must have loved the mother, for he would never tell her the mother's name. _What on earth can I do to harm her?_ He was ashamed, she could see that.

'But not enough to tell you' a small voice in her head seethed. Not furiously like a raging storm, but more like simmering venom. Slowly making its way inside her.

* * *

"Tell me who she is."

The Dornishwoman's face haunted her. Her eyes were shining amethysts and her hair was a river of melted silver. She heard that her hair was as dark as an abyss. But in Catelyn's head, she always looked an ethereal dragon.

* * *

"Tell me who she is."

Cat wanted to do it. She really did. The stranger had taught her a lesson and she wanted to thank him for letting her girl live. She dressed in her finest clothes and wanted to bring her children with her to the Sept. She thought to pray for the boy and to teach Robb and Sansa to do the same. But on her way to them she heard a sound.

She followed it to her babe's room. There, she found the boy by her Arya's side, holding her and making her _smile_. Her blood burned through her veins when she saw him laugh.

'Bastard!' The voice hissed.

That…that bastard held her babe and laughed as he mussed what little hair she had on her head. It struck her how alike they looked. With their grey eyes and dark hair just like Ned's. Because they were his children.

'But he is not your son' the voice mocked like it had won a battle.

_I only pray to my children!_ She walked back to change her clothes. _Let his mother's gods watch over him!_

* * *

" Tell me who she is."

The god of fire gave her a riddle.

Which one is a stranger shroud to wear: One that is made of decay and little voices or one that is made of wolf skins and loneliness?

* * *

"Tell me who she is."

She asked Ned for the thousandth time as they looked down upon their children. She trembled and drew in a breath when she saw him nod instead of refusing. He leaned in much too slowly and whispered her name in Cat's ear. Her eyes widened as she finally heard the name of the woman who tormented her all of these years. And like a dungeon key the name liberated her. And her jailor, the festering little voice crumbled into nothingness.

_Forgive me…Jon Snow._

* * *

**AN: **The gods that took care of Jon may vary depending on who do you think his mother is. I tried to leave it an open subject because that's exactly who she is to both Jon and Catelyn: A ghost that tormented the two of them. Thanks for sticking around and have a nice day!


End file.
